


A Dream of Winter

by Iris_Celeno



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon meets Mom, Season8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Celeno/pseuds/Iris_Celeno
Summary: In the crypts of Winterfell, Jon meets the woman whose affection he's starved for all his life. Will it help him to accept who he is, and whom he loves?





	A Dream of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: G  
> Timeline: Season 8, after the reveal.  
> Spoilers: None.  
> Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen feelings. Just like in my first fic about Arya/Gendry, I want non-shippers to be warned while I believe that even if Daenerys is absent, shippers won't be disappointed in the outcome :)  
> Non beta-ed, please forgive any mistake you might find.

All that Jon ever had of her was a silhouette carved in stone, buried in a dark and cold place. A statue he never even paid much attention to.  
He had always felt out of place in the crypts. Lady Catelyn's disapproving stare was even heavier than usual there, and sharper, piercing the tender defense walls of a young heart that yearned to belong. He always walked three steps behind the family, eyes glued to the ground. Father...Ned Stark, never stopped in front of his sister's grave for long anyway.

Yet here she was now, a foot away from him; a radiant presence, beauty as wild and delicate as a winter rose. Here she was now, long dark hair uncoiling, falling softly down her back and around her face, red blood slowly coloring her veins blue and her flesh pink. Her clear bright eyes were void no more, reflecting the dim torchlight. There was no surprise in their soulful depths, only longing...

_Has she been waiting for me, all this time?_

She took a step forward yet stopped short, as if she didn't dare to close fully the distance between them. Suddenly unsure, worrying her lower lip, she scrutinized him instead. 

They noticed at the same time that mirroring her gesture, his hand had stilled mid-air while reaching for her.

Her expression changed then, her pink mouth curved up in a quivering smile, with a touch of youthful impishness. This was the real her, he understood, the wild Northen beauty who craved freedom. She was so very young indeed, younger than him. Somewhere, it broke his heart. Somehow, it gave him the courage to whisper the magic word.

“Mother?”

Her dark grey gaze softened, shimmering and melting like steel in a fire. Still silent, she stretched out a slender hand. This time, he didn't hesitate and he grasped it. 

Her other hand cupped the side of his face. The skin of her fingers was soft and slightly callused at once. He closed his lids at the fresh contact, expecting solace; yet out of nowhere it was fear that took upon him. What if she wasn't real? What if he looked again and she was gone? What if she was a lie, too?

“My son.”

Her dulcet tones were slightly hoarse and facts that came off as somewhat unreal when uttered by Bran's disembodied voice hit him full force.

_You're the son of Lyanna Stark..._

His mother had a name, his mother had a face, and he finally drank the sight of her as avidly as he wished, feeding his soul with this image he had starved for his whole life.

“My son,” she repeated.

He gripped her hand tighter, clinging to it like to a lifeline. Those two words conveyed a truth he never even dared to envision seriously, for he was aware that it would break his heart in a million pieces if it was to be revealed an illusion. His mother never rejected him. He was a _wanted_ child, not an embarrassment taken care of out of honor and decency only. 

His mother loved him.

The certainty...no, it was beyond that; the _knowledge_ was all it took. For the first time of his life he wasn't an accident, a mere wild shoot of the family tree. He was no fledging sprout anymore. He had full roots, solid roots of his own. 

“When you were born and I saw your face, all winter cub, I was thankful and relieved. You could be saved, even if I wouldn't be...” 

Her intonations carried a world of boundless love, but underneath he discerned another, one of pain and regrets and sacrifice. Through a connection as deep as it was instantaneous, through his blood that was hers, he understood that he meant both those worlds and more to her.  
In a flash, he felt everything she felt, he understood everything she did, her mistakes, her remorses, her fears, her hopes, her triumphs. He wanted to tell her but it was so much, too much, and words stuck like a lump in his throat.

“Mother,” he could only repeat in turn, the name encompassing his whole heart, his entire existence. 

“And when I look at your face now,” she went on serenely, stooping in front of him, “I see so much of your father in you, so much of him in your eyes the color of mine. So much of my brother, the one I loved best. You took after the two finest men I ever knew, and nothing could bring me more happiness. Nothing could make me more proud.” 

In her winterly gaze was a gleam he had seen before. In Catelyn's, when she looked at Robb. In Ned's, when he looked at Arya. 

The realization came with zillions of emotions and still at a loss for words, he only found one way to express them. He threw his arms around her waist, laid his head on her chest and held her tight. 

How many times, as a child, had he wished for a mother to hug?  
How many times more, had he wished for a mother to hug him back?

Because she did, she wrapped her arms around him and she rocked him soothingly, like a baby, _his_ mother, his _mother_ ; she stroked his back and rested her cheek on top of his hair, whispering words he never imagined he'd ever hear.

_My son, my sweet son, my brave, beloved son..._

_I'm so sorry, I'm here now, it will be allright..._

Was it her tears or his who bathed his face first? Unable to repress his sobs anymore, he wept silently over everything he never had, the father he never knew, over everything he lost, the man who was his model and raised him as his son. He cried over Lady Catelyn who used to hate him so much for no reason in the end, Robb and Rickon who died so young, his other siblings who had lost even more than him, Ygritte whom he had betrayed and loved, his brethen who killed him, the world coming to an end, his dread that he'd be powerless to stop it, and Dany...  
He let tears flow and with them darkness, weakness, pain left his soul. In the embrace of the woman who gave life to him, who would love him unconditionally, who would understand his failures and his mistakes and his joys and his triumphs just like he understood hers, he was home at last, everything made sense at last, suffering became wisdom, experience, and an irresistible strength, an irrepressible confidence filled his heart.  
Sobs became sighs as he reveled in his mother's embrace, immersed in the sound of their breathing, in the sound of their hearts beating together, safe in his bubble of a miracle. 

Dull pain spread in his back, dull cold seeped into his bones, until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

The bubble popped and he found himself sitting alone, back against the wall, on the freezing muddy ground in the crypts of Winterfell. In front of him stood his mother, who was dead and stone again. 

Nothing was sweeter and crueler at once than a beautiful dream.

He huddled up, buried his head in his knees. Solitude was his oldest companion as well as his oldest enemy, one he thought he had tamed...mistakenly. After he found true and loyal friends, after he found his place in the world, after he found Dany, he lowered his guard and only made himself more vulnerable.

It seemed, however, that he wasn't alone for the time being. He lifted his head, squinting in the half-light to identify the presence nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel so much for motherless Jon, sigh. I wanted him to get a hug, even in a dream...or is it?  
> This chapter can be read as a one-shot, but a second part is planned. Work keeps me so busy, I never know when time and inspiration will coincide. but I'll try to update as soon as possible.  
> Next chapter: I believe the people there are a pretty easy guess :) This time, it's reality that comforts Jon.


End file.
